


Chapter 2 - After a Shower

by Writer_Lethogica



Series: Invincible Summer [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Canon Divergence, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2018-01-02 21:00:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writer_Lethogica/pseuds/Writer_Lethogica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester has enough problems to deal with - the gates of heaven closing, angels walking amongst humans, Zeke secretly living inside of Sam, Abaddon gaining power amongst the demons, Crowley under his roof, and Cas alone in the world. Dean doesn't have time for another problem. But he can't just throw her out on the street, especially not in the sorry state she's in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chapter 2 - After a Shower

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to say thank you to gillasue345. You really gave me a good amount to think about that helped me out while reworking the piece. :) Anywho, I hope y'all enjoy this installment.

She got out of the shower all smiles, covered by a fluffed up robe, towel wrapped around her head. She didn’t look homeless anymore. There were telltale signs of malnutrition and hunger with sunken cheeks and jutting bones. Bruises, cuts, and stitches still peppered the skin that could be seen as if a child went to town with her with markers while she was sleeping. They were reminders of Dean’s failure. Dean felt pained seeing them, felt like cursing himself for not knowing she was alive…but he knew he couldn’t do anything about the past. At least she was clean now, and that was a start. She turned her eyes to Dean. They were bright and happy. She looked like she was in heaven.

“I really like this place, you know? Protection, pie, good water pressure—I could get used to this,” said Deanna, sitting in his armchair. She looked comfortable, at home. Her words made Dean smile for a moment. He understood how she felt.

Her eyes wandered around, soaking in the room. Dean was glad he put away his _Busty Asian Beauties_ collection while she was in the shower.

“I like the ambiance of your room. The feng shui—it really works here,” said Deanna, standing up as she walked across the room.

“Feng what?” said Dean, giving her a look.

“You know? Chi and all that crap. My ma would say something like that if she was in a person’s house, oddly was really into that sort of stuff. Super superstitious and super into luck,” said Deanna. She stopped at the picture of Dean’s own mother. She reached for the photo. Dean wasn’t sure if he wanted her to touch it. The only person who touched that picture in decades was Dean. However, it was too late for him to stop her now. She already had it in her hands.

“Hey, be careful with that,” said Dean with slight sternness. Deanna nodded, a sad smile on her face.

“No, I completely understand,” said Deanna, setting down the picture meticulously so that it was in the exact same place she found it, then walking back to the bathroom, “I carry a picture of my ma around as well.”

She scrounged through her tattered hoodie and took out a worn photo.

“I wish I could have taken better care of it like yours, but these last two-ish years…they’ve been _really_ hard. I’m surprised I’m in one piece myself. But enough about sad things. Here—you can check out mine. Isn’t she beautiful?”

She handed him the picture. Reluctantly, he took it.

The woman was beautiful. She had strawberry blonde hair that fell down in ringlets just past her shoulder. Her skin was tanned a light bronze by the sun, a freckle or two showing up every once and a while as if they were playing hide and seek. Her eyes were a beautiful hazel that seemed more golden than anything. She was wearing a cat outfit, her face painted messily with whiskers as if a child drew them. She was sitting down, her legs crossed.

Her arms were around a child who could have only have been four, five years old. The little girl had bright, straight red hair, poking out in all directions, only tamed by a ninety-nine cent witch hat. She had these big, wondrous eyes that Dean knew so well—his eyes. His ever changing, hunter green to nyanza eyes, flickering a spectrum of green at different angles. Her skin was still pale, like a kid protected well by the sun. She had on a cheap black dress with a ridiculous purple cat smack dab in the middle of it. Her legs were flailing off her mother’s crossed legs as well as the porch they were sitting on, striped vivid violet and black by tights. Ugly yellow rain boots covered her feet.

“Yeah,” Dean said, handing the photo back to Deanna, “She is.”

Dean remembered the woman vaguely. It was during a time in between jobs. Sammy was old enough to take care of himself by then, and sometimes, Dean would slip out and try to pretend he wasn’t Dean Winchester, Hunter of Monsters. For a couple of weeks he could pretend to be perfectly normal Dean Winchester who wanted to be a mechanic.

“We would always have couples outfits during Halloween when I was a kid,” said Deanna, smiling nostalgically, “It was sort of our thing before I started thinking it was embarrassing.”

She held the picture lovingly, then went back to the bathroom to put in back in the hoodie gingerly. Deanna walked back into the room and glanced at his bookshelf.

“You really need to expand your horizons, dude,” Deanna said, “I love history, mythologies, and classics as much as the next guy, but Dean, where’s the poetry? Where are the essay collections? The recent fiction? I can totally recommend some books for you, if you want.”

Dean smiled. There was something oddly nice about watching her criticize his personal library. However, there was this tenseness that came up in him. Dean reminded himself that he didn’t have time for another problem.

“You know this is temporary, right? You’re on a trial basis here, kid,” said Dean, crossing his arms and leaning on the wall.

“ _Doubt is not a pleasant condition, but certainty is absurd_ ,” said Deanna, shrugging as she hugged herself, holding the robe tightly in her hands. She shifted a bit from side to side.

“That’s—er—Voltaire, by the way,” said Deanna awkwardly, clearing her throat, “I quote things a lot. Like, there’s a good quote by Michael Ondaatje for this situation of ours, it really works well for us!”

Her lips curled slightly, the faintest smile on her face as she took the towel off her head.

“ _Trust me, this will take time but there is order here, very faint, very human_ …I…I know I’m not the easiest person to get along with, I get that, but I want you to know how grateful I am for this chance.”

Her eyes were hopeful, edging scared and relieved at the same time. Dean couldn’t help but smile a bit. He walked over and patted her head, messing her hair up.

“You should get some rest, kid,” said Dean, walking over to the door.

“Don’t call me ‘kid’, call me Deanna,” called the girl. Dean stopped, turning back to her.

“Why are you named Deanna, anyways?” asked Dean. Deanna’s smile grew bigger, nostalgia taking her.

“Ma wanted me to have a part of my dad, especially because she thought I’d never meet you,” said Deanna. Something about that statement gave Dean pain.

“What about that middle name of yours. ‘Cassiel’? What kind of a name is ‘Cassiel’?” asked Dean. Deanna gave Dean a look.

“I don’t judge you by your last name, Losechester. Cassiel’s an archangel in post-biblical Abrahamic religions, especially in the Kabbalah. Cassiel was one of the angels of Saturday and was the angel of memory, genius, and mind expansion—don’t give me that look, I’m a Wikipedia-holic and I can absorb information quicker than warp speed. Not like my ma actually knew any of that information.”

“You’re a trekkie?” asked Dean, a smile unknowingly finding itself on his face. She did the Vulcan salute.

“Live long and prosper, bitch.”

“Jerk—wait, no, that’s not how that’s supposed to go.”

She gave him a confused look. He shook his head.

“Never mind. How’d she pull that out of her ass then?”

Deanna groaned as if she’d explained this story a thousand times to people.

“She said the night before I was born, she had a dream. The only thing she remembered from it was the word Cassiel. She thought it was some sort of sign from God or something. Stupid, right? Why would God care about some bastard child? It…it’s sort of funny, though. I _was_ born on a Saturday.”

For a moment, Deanna just stared at nothing, her mind wandering into memories. Dean nodded, wondering if that was really true. The name just made Dean think of Cas, and Cas…he didn’t want to think about Cas right now. He didn’t want to remember that Cas was out there all alone, trying to deal with a world he barely had the experience to understand.

Something in Deanna’s face changed, as if she remembered something.

“By the way…is this place angel proofed?” asked Deanna. She said it in almost a whisper.

That was another thing that was bugging Dean about Deanna—how did she know about all this crap? Angels and his line of work. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to tell her just yet.

“Uh, maybe, it’s not a place that the angels can find willy-nilly, but we haven’t really had the chance to test it out. Why?” asked Dean, trying not to sound entirely suspicious. Deanna’s face was a mixture of reluctance and guilt.

“I need you not to freak out when I say this,” said Deanna, a bit of fear lacing her voice. Dean gave her a look.

“Tell me what it is and I’ll choose whether or not I’m going to ‘freak out’ about anything,” said Dean, trying to keep his voice level.

“I just—I trust her, and she’s good, _I’m telling you she’s good_ , and I don’t want you to just kill her with that blade of yours before you let her say anything,” said Deanna as she began to pace back and forth.

“ _She_?”

“ _Raziel_. The angel who pointed me your direction. She said I could trust you, because Castiel trusts you and she trusts Castiel. She-She couldn’t come, she was being chased as well—”

“By who—”

“The angels, of course, the angels! And demons. She has something that they both want and she wanted to get them off my scent—”

“And why would they want you—”

“BECAUSE I’M YOUR DAUGHTER!”

The room became quiet. Her body was shaking, her eyes were watering and filled with a mixture of rage and sorrow.

“My ma… _died_ …because of you—my estranged grandfather _died_ because of you, because I was born unlucky enough to be your daughter.”

Dean froze. He didn’t know what to say. The weight of another two lives were on him once more, as if he was Atlas and the world grew larger. She had her face in her hands, her body shaking more and more. Slowly, she took control.

“Deanna…I…”

“Don’t say you’re sorry, I am glad that I was born. I am glad I’m alive, Dean. As Barbara Mandrell once said, _I realize we’re not promised tomorrow. Believe me, I realize that. But if God blesses me and lets me stay, I love my life so much, it is such a good life_ …It’s not your fault, and I know it’s not mine…I’m going to go get dressed, I’d like some time alone. No use of going to bed right now, don’t want to be on Tokyo time and it’s not like I’m a vampire.”

Deanna gave Dean a halfhearted smile and Dean gave one back to her.

“You know, vampires don’t just go out at night,” said Dean. Both of their smiles grew.

“Hey, I’m new to this stuff! I don’t have your experience. The only experience I have with vampires is with _Interview with a Vampire_ and _Twilight_ —Don’t judge, I read the books before people thought they were crap and I don’t stop liking things because people say they don’t like them. I choose what I like, not other people,” harrumphed Deanna. Dean snorted.

“Okay. What does that make you—a hipster or whatever?” asked Dean reluctantly. Deanna gave him a mock serious look.

“Sometimes, I wonder if I am a hipster. Then I remember I hate the idea and I’m just a person who likes to be unique.”

Her eyes began to dazzle once more, bright and happy, a Cheshire smile spread on her face.

“As Barbara Hamby’s poem ‘Millennium Rave’ says, _squawk all you want, while I continue my rumba/with the infinite, my mambo with the spheres,/because I have a tip, a glimmer, an inkling, and while/the night remains dark and preposterous, I will rave on_!”

Dean laughed.

“You’re a bit weird, you know that?”

Deanna just kept grinning.

“And don’t you forget it, buddy boy,” she said, winking, making Dean laugh again. Dean wondered how this kid got so cheesy.

Quickly, she shuffled over to Dean and hugged him tightly.

“See you later.”

She swiftly walked through the room as Dean heard Sam say ‘The clothes are in the room over there’. Dean smiled. Despite himself, he _did_ like that she was weird, oddly enough. Her weirdness worried him, though, made him wonder how easily she made friends, if she was okay out there in the world before he knew about her—then he stopped himself. No. He didn’t have time for another problem.

Sam walked in, sighing.

“Well, she’s a character,” said Sam, grinning.

“Oh, shut up.”

“She’s good, though. A bit _quirky_ , but I like her.”

Dean weakly smiled.

“Yeah, well, I like her too,” Dean said gruffly.

For a moment, they just stood there.

“Dean…you don’t have to push people away. We’re living in the bunker now, we can protect her.”

“Let’s…let’s not talk about this right now. I don’t want to think about everything right now,” said Dean, trying not to think about all his problems.

“I just wanted to tell you that I think it’s okay if she stayed,” said Sam.

“Like I said, we’ll see if she’ll stay. This is a trial period. We don’t even know if she’s…my…uh…”

Sam just laughed.

“Okay, whatever you say, Dean.”

“Anyways, she asked if she could have some time alone, so I guess we should let her. Keep an eye on her door, though, I don’t think it’s a good idea to have her running around here, who knows what she’ll find. Do you think she likes waffles? I think I’m going to make waffles. I just got strawberry syrup and I want to see how it goes with this new recipe I got online. Cinnamon pumpkin waffles. I got all the ingredients a couple days back and I’ve been itching to try it out,” said Dean, all smiles.

He didn’t know why, but he loved to cook. He was good at it too. It reminded him of the days where he and his mother were alone in the house, his father staying at a motel somewhere, and they would cook together. Sometimes it was just making dinner, sometimes it was baking pies, but it was always fun to just be with her. Doing things like that made Dean happy, made him feel like he was in that kitchen again with his mom.

Sam just smiled at him.

“Sure, Dean,” said Sam, “I think she’d love it.”


End file.
